Little brown sparrow,
 
was that you I saw at noon,
 
or just a shadow?

 
 
 

On a warm spring day
 
a shadowy woodland path
 
calls me, so I go.

 

 
 
 

What of the window,
 
shut now, because the widow
 
wants only shadow?

 
 
 

In the gate’s shadow
 
I find a deeper shadow
 
within a shadow.

 
 
 

Morning’s first strong light—
 
a crow imprints its shadow
 
on my backyard fence.

 
 
 

Become the blackbird,
 
or if not the blackbird, then
 
at least its shadow.

 
 
 

Into its shadow
 
a bell releases one note—
 
autumn loneliness.

 
 
 

Autumn loneliness:
 
within its shadow the bell
 
gathers one more note.

Whiteness

 
 
 

My sweater’s whiteness
 
lightens with every shadow
 
that falls upon it.

Shadow

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
on the path to the teahouse
 
I lose my shadow.